The Surprising Revelation of Minerva McGonagall
by Mary Barrett
Summary: Professor McGonagall makes an interesting discovery about one of her lesser known students.
1. Chapter 1

"But… Albus…" The woman stuttered, clutching her silk robes to her throat as if her broach was in danger of slipping. "How could this be?"

Her companion sighed, in no hurry to give her any sort of honest answer. They were both hyper-focused on the unconscious raven haired boy, newly admitted to the Hospital Wing, so quiet and still that even his disturbingly racking breathes almost made them jump.

It had been less than two hours since Headmaster Dumbledore had found the scrawny boy, sprawled out on the Hogwarts lawn with no shame in the world, and those two hours had been enough to turn everything in Minerva McGonagall's ordered and structured world upside down. She was always protective of her lions- for good or ill, nobody would deny that she is fiercely protective of her lions- but now, with the utter incongruity that had marked this day, it was somehow a slimy Snake who held all of her attention. Minerva turned to Madame Pomfrey next.

"Tell me again what the diagnostic report said."

Poppy, shooting her friend a concerned look, picked up again the scroll on which the results of Snape's diagnostic had been automatically recorded and poured back over the results. They were far from pretty.

"Improperly healed broken ribs and several other bones; internal bruising; intensive kidney damage from malnutrition, scarring, and the like."

She trailed off. She could not keep going. The stern and typically composed Head of Gryffindor House also found herself at a loss for words.

There was no need, after all, to ask who had done this to the boy, who had been the cause of these- substantial- injuries.

"You had better not be thinking what I think you're thinking, Albus," she finally growled under her breath. Poppy looked sheepishly from one imposing teacher to the other, unsure of where this was heading.

"What choice do I have, Minerva? I know of no one else willing to take him in." He glared at the other. "What precisely do you propose I do?"

"You can't send him back there! Not knowing what you know now! If you do, Severus will know. He will know that you knew how that Muggle beat and abused him- and he will know that you did nothing."

They were interrupted by a piteous moan from the hospital bed. Instinctively, Minerva's hand went to the drenched and sweaty forehead, causing a slight squirm from the small form under her. Dumbledore noticed this, and it was enough to cause him to frown slightly. Slowly, Poppy handed the other woman a warm rag, which she used to brush off Severus's overtly pale and sallow face, her troubled gaze lingering for longer than Dumbledore considered necessary before she handed the damp towel back to the matron.

"Surely… surely you see that I have no other option," he finally spoke. Discovering the abuse of one of Hogwarts more unpopular and solemn students had definitely shaken these two staff members, but Albus remained steady and firm, even as an irate Poppy turned to face him.

"No other option?" Her voice was low and fierce. "No other option but to send him back to the father who put him in this situation, to begin with?"

"I'll take him."

Albus blinked, not sure, for a moment that Minerva had spoken. She was not looking at him- was not looking at anything, indeed, but Severus, her steely gaze unfixed and unmoving. She did not know what had made her say it; raising a teenager was an incredibly different endeavor than teaching them, after all, and she certainly wasn't equipped to take a growing teenage boy into her quarters.

But stopping the boy from getting back into that brutal muggle's hands usurped all else in her mind. At that moment, it was done, and it made Albus Dumbledore gasp.

When she thought back on it, many years later, with her son a teacher by her side, she knew that she wouldn't change any of it for the whole world.


	2. The First Night

A/N: Since so many of you seemed interested in what happened next…

"And this is your new room," Minerva finished decisively, watching as the boy looked around hesitantly. It was true that the place was nothing much- she hadn't even decorated it, but had returned after her fierce statement to the Headmaster to find that a new room had been added to her sparse, sometimes cold quarters, the quilt on the bed a more Slytherin green than she could have envisioned in her worst nightmares, bookshelves and a small night table flanking the bed, and a tiny- too tiny, she had thought- desk providing the only other furniture.

It was simple, that much was true, but it was clean, and surely once the boy had settled in and made it his own- the thought still made the unmotherly woman gulp decisively, almost in fear- surely then it would be more comfortable.

She turned to look at him again, watched as his beady, nearly lifeless black eyes took in his new surroundings, absorbing everything like… well, like a bottomless pit, or a black hole with a particularly strong gravitational force. Severus had always been a quiet boy, but the past few years had seen his solemnness denote something altogether more serious, some hardened, determined and perhaps even vicious or vengeful aspect of his character it had somehow, now, become Minerva's duty to quell.

Seeing his lips purse almost in contempt, she was not sure how well she would succeed.

"As you can see, your trunk and the rest of your things have already been brought up," she said, when he remained silent.

Without a word, he went over and got up on the bed, running his hands over the very Slytherin-esque duvet as if examining it for any lose threads or defects- the way, McGonagall knew, that he examined people- and, finally, moving his spindly long legs to sit what in what the Muggles termed Indian-style.

"I will be in the sitting room if you need anything."

That would do for now. She would bring him some dinner later, she decided; no need to spend longer in each other's company than was wont, she thought as she turned to go. But her musings were interrupted by a small voice from the bed.

"You don't have to pretend, you know."

Minerva blinked in confusion. "Excuse me?"

"To care. You don't have to pretend that you care. It's alright. Better if you don't."

Startled, the door shut behind Minerva with more bang than she had intended. What in Merlin's name did the blasted boy mean?

* * *

Dinner was a quiet and rather subdued affair, plain roast chicken and rolls. It was Easter holls, which meant, unfortunately, that all of the boys in the fourth-year Slytherin dormitory had vacated Hogwarts like so many crawling spiders, leaving the Deputy Headmistress with the unfortunate duty of taking in her charge for the first fortnight.

Neither said much. Minerva replenished Severus's water when he'd drunk it all, and pursed her lips when he neglected to ask for more food when he was done, causing her to place a second roll on his plate with the same Don't- You- Say-Anything look she gave students who grumbled over Transfiguration essays. He glared, not caring that she was still his Professor, despite it all, but ate it anyway, without a word.

"There," she said with finality, when he had done. "That wasn't so hard, was it?"

Severus glared all the harder.

* * *

Minerva approached the shut door, feeling vulnerable and exposed in her tawdry dressing gown, the folded linens in her arms behaving like so many shields and barriers. Sucking in a breath, she gave a quick but firm rap on the door, and waited for the surly child to answer.

At last he did, looking almost surprised to see her, though the unhappiness still etched across his features made his teacher's skin crawl.

"I brought extra blankets," Minerva informed him.

"I don't need 'em," he said suddenly, eyes wide as saucers.

She could not have been more surprised if he had shut the door plain in her face.

"Are you sure?" she tried again, biting her tongue to keep from reprimanding him for his disrespect.

This time he did shut the door in her face.

* * *

Minerva had not expected to sleep soundly that night- not with the boy just down the hall- but this tossing and turning had surpassed even her expectations.

Her own bedroom was coordinated, organized and simple, with no lavish décor, no outlandish colors or flourishes of any kind anywhere to be found. Her quilt was Gryffindor red, it was true, but with no frills or other design, and a golden throw blanket was folded neatly on the end. A glass lamp, a glass of milk and the new knitting magazine Albus had lent her were the only things gracing the side table, although the desk perched just under the stone window told quite a different story.

Minerva McGonagall's desk was the only part of her living space she allowed to be a little cluttered, simply because… well, she needed a little space to sprawl just as everyone else. There must have been five of the most recent rubbish from Transfiguration Today thrown there among the sewing needles, each article well and truly marked up with Minerva's sturdy red grading quill in her small and cramped writing, each correction giving her a rush of satisfaction that became an indulgence. Half-finished crochets and stitch patterns were littered on top of these: sprawling farm houses and greens, the new socks she was darning for Albus's birthday, Pomona's sweater that needed a new thread she'd offered to mend. And, on top of this- student homework. It was, of course, not always possible to leave such unpleasant tasks in her work hours, and as a result dozens of papers had begun to stack up, each grimy and hastily compiled assignment plopped one on top of another as if an infectious disease had begun to rise out of the ink. It was well and truly disgusting, and for the moment, a lovely scapegoat for the Professor's newfound sleeplessness.

But deep down she knew better.

Grabbing her wand and heaving a great sigh, she got up from the bed and shuffled into the hall. All seemed quiet; but of course, she supposed, a house with Severus Snape was never truly devoid of mischief.

Going a little further, she finally came to the boy's room, and she stopped to see if anything could be amiss. No noise came from the dark room, but she was not fooled, and waited a moment longer, almost tricking herself into believing she had heard something. Surely she had- Minerva pressed her ear to the door, just to be safe.

Soft moans were coming from inside. She hadn't dared believe it at first, be sure enough, low groans and sighs were coming from the other side of the door. Before it crossed her mind that she was actually entering the boy's room, much less that she had actually gone to _check _on him, she had crossed the threshold and was at Severus's side. He was moving and flopping, the duvet pulled all the way up to his chin, as ungraceful in sleep as he was awake, apparently trapped in some relentless dream. Unsure of how to proceed, she shook him firmly, to no avail.

"It's only a dream!" she tried. "Wake up, child!" Nothing.

Slowly, but with certainty, she placed a firm hand on his chest, stilling him and preventing his rapid, incessant movement. Denied the release of struggle, Severus began breathing very heavily, raspy and jerky breaths that almost made Minerva call Poppy. However, a mere moment later and he was sitting up, sweating but no longer twitching, terrified and even startled to see the worried face of his Professor looming over him.

"Professor McGonagall?"

His voice was hoarse, and she quickly conjured a drink of water and brought it to his lips, sitting beside him on the bed and watching him swallow and gulp as if it would be the last drink he ever had.

This made her stomach squirm inside of her.

But before Minerva had time to examine these emotions further, he was finished, leaning back against the headboard with a great gasp. She took the glass from him and laid in on the side table.

"That must have been quite the dream."

He shut his eyes, but said nothing.

"Should you wish to discuss it…"

"I asked you to stop pretending, Professor."

"And has it occurred to you that I am not?" She was inflamed now. The Scot in her could not allow otherwise.

"But no one has ever"-

"They were idiots." The cat in her was almost growling now. "Arrogant, insufferable fools."

"They were right." His voice was stronger now.

"No child, however…" she gulped again. "However difficult it is for him to focus on Vanishing spells in class, deserves that kind of treatment, Severus."

He huffed, but to her great relief, did not press the point. His Professor conjured a warm cloth and began to wipe some of the moisture from his forehead, and he was so tired he did not even try and take it from her. _Severus must be really exhausted_, she thought, and sure enough, in a few minutes his breathing had evened out and he had fallen again into slumber.

Satisfied with this, McGonagall turned to leave, but turning back to him again was struck anew with what must have been the one millionth unpleasant thought she had had these past twenty-four hours.

_I can see his ribcage. _

This time the door did not bang behind her.


	3. Chapter 3

The next morning proved to be just as uncomfortable as the evening before. Minerva rose early, seemingly unable to stay asleep after being so shaken, and made her way to the small kitchen area to her freshly brewed pot of coffee and a copy of the _Prophet_. She sat in her chair at the square, empty table, sitting straight-laced and stiff and trying all the same not to squirm. The utter quietness of the house was beginning to disturb her, which she had never experienced in her own home before, and the intense morning sunlight just starting to creep in through the yellow-curtained window above the sink did nothing to sooth the disquiet. She ate a piece of fruit and a muffin- usually all that she was able to manage in the morning- and decided with a stern _Accio_ to continue scratching through some of the student papers she had been wrestling with into the night.

She was halfway through, intently scribbling and hopelessly absorbed, when she realized that the solemn messy haired boy had joined her, rousing from his sleep like-death and taking a seat across from her without her noticing. Severus's hair was hopelessly disheveled- wasn't it always?- and she resisted the very real temptation to order him to go to the back room and comb it before she pursed her lips and summoned a plate of warm French toast that had been waiting in the oven, fresh from the Hogwarts kitchen. Severus looked at his as if trying to inhale it with his eyes, and when Minerva noticed it made her gulp again. Just what that ridiculous Muggle had done, she didn't know, but she was determined to get to the bottom of it, as it reminded her of a certain discussion that needed to be had. Before allowing him to scarf down the indulgent breakfast, however, she held up a single finger, and added blueberries and Whipped cream to the already sweet dish. The boy's eyes, if possible, went even wider, and she was pleased to find that she didn't have to admonish him to get him to eat this time. The sight of her charge enjoying the food was enough to bring the corners of her lips up, but she knew that wouldn't last long; better now than later, when he was occupied with pouring the syrup more than her words.

"I was sorry to note that you didn't sleep well," she tried.

Severus shrugged, flicking some black strands out of his plate and not looking up at her. "I'm used to it," was all he said, before he went back to his meal.

As if that should have been satisfactory.

Sighing, Minerva tried once again. "Perhaps… perhaps if the cause of your nighttime distresses were made known, then it would be possible for Madam Pomfrey or myself to aid you in some way."

Aid him in some way? Severus paused, pondering the meaning of such an apparently ambiguous statement. Was she talking about a Potion that could stop the dreams? He could make that himself. Or was she talking about- something else? He shuddered. Whatever it was, he certainly had no intentions to divulge such private information about himself to satisfy his nosy teacher's whims and was about to tell her so when he was taken aback by a rather intense sigh on his Professor's part.

"Really, Severus. I have no delusions that talking about such things is an easy thing to do. But everyone gets nightmares, dear, and it is best you put a stop to them now, before they do you real damage."

"I don't think they're doing me real damage." The black eyes were wide again; they seemed to be moving further and further away.

"I noticed before, silly boy. You walk into my classroom with bags under your eyes as long as my arm. You help no one by pretending the problem doesn't exist when it so clearly does."

"And what the hell would you know about my problems?" He had not meant to come off so… snappy. He hadn't, really, but she had no right to be prying like that, no right at all! He never got to enjoy a good meal in peace- certainly not at Hogwarts, always looking over his shoulder with shifting eyes for the Fantastic Four, and never at home, where a homecooked meal meant eat before your old man decided you'd already had too much because the day at the mill had left him hungrier than usual. Was it too much to ask he be left in peace here?

"You will dispense with the tone or will find that I am perfectly capable of giving detention on Easter Holls," she said threateningly, apparently oblivious to his inner turmoil. He scowled and folded his arms across his chest but said nothing. Pleased with this, she managed to sit up a little straighter. She closed her eyes and sighed. "Severus, you should tell me what the dream was about. Perhaps it will- "

Minerva had expected more snapping. She had expected fuming, and glaring, and possibly a staring contest, until he gave in and broke down.

This was not what happened.

He snarled, that much was true. He snarled, and then-

"Thanks for the breakfast."

He pushed his plate away and hurried from the table.

She sighed again.

* * *

At least she didn't have to tell the boy twice to do his homework, she thought, watching from her armchair with knitting in her arms as he sat hunched over his own papers, writing as if his life depended on it and succeeding in getting ink all over his hands in the process. It was almost fascinating to watch: as if he did not think about the words before writing them, as if he knew the answers instinctively and she seemed to know without asking that he was working on a Potions assignment, an area in which he seemed- loyal as Minerva was to her dear but often bumbling colleague- to far excel his Professor. She'd known he was a smart boy- but seeing that in action was enough to engage all of her attention so that the stitching sat forgotten in her lap and she instantly regretted disparaging him all those times before for putting a "lack of effort" into his Transfiguration homework. Seeing him now, and knowing what she now knew, there was probably more to it than that.

Not that he would admit it, of course.

* * *

Albus came by that afternoon. His excuse was that he wanted to see how things were progressing, but Minerva knew better. It wasn't exactly that he was _uninterested_ in the Snape boy, persay; but a distinct lack of action on said boy's behalf over the last four years seemed to indicate that there was some sort of underlying motive to the Headmaster's visit, and the dropping feeling Minerva got in the pit of her stomach was only accentuated when she realized why she had not noticed this before.

Of course. It was so obvious.

To Severus's credit- for it seemed he was Severus now- he did not outright snap at the Headmaster the way he had done with her that morning. He sat quietly and stiffly on the couch across from the man and gave one-word answers to the questions quipped at him. Finally, after realizing the utter lack of headway he was making, Albus dismissed the boy with a sigh and turned to address his Deputy Head.

"His first night was acceptable, I presume."

"It was hardly anything to rave over, Albus," Minerva sniffed. "Severus had a nightmare, and a rather severe one at that! But this morning he was acting all clammish- which is predictable, but still."

"That is hardly surprising, given what I have discovered about his homelife."

Minerva seemed to sit up a little straighter.

"You went to the Snape's?"

"I did."

"And?" It hardly seemed that she could be so interested; a student in a rival house, a student she had been saddled with, a student she'd never paid much mind too…

"The home is not fit for a rabid dog to inhabit, much less a child. There is no electricity; even the most basic and bare of Muggle technology. His bedroom reeks of flies. There is not a scrap of food to be found in the place, not to mention the dirt. Don't mention it to him- you know that would not go over well- but I do believe that I found evidence that his father is an alcoholic, which is a Muggle term for someone with a chemical addiction to alcohol."

Minerva's hand flew to her forehead, which was suddenly sweaty. She found that her palm was clammy.

"Certainly… certainly you have informed this- Mr. Snape that his son will not be returning to him?"

"I told him that the child is being adequately cared for, yes."

Adequately cared for? Was that all? she thought. Good god!

She had the sudden urge to go to- well, to wherever it was and correct Mr. Snape's assumptions herself. For a moment she thought that Dumbledore could tell this, but she quickly schooled her expression and tried to calm herself to continue the conversation. Getting worked up never got you anywhere where Albus Dumbledore was concerned.

"I suggest that you allow him to stay with you for the time being, Minerva. Unless you wish him to have far worse problems than broken ribs."

He stood, clearly intending to leave, and so she stood too, mouth agape, unable to respond as everything she had imagined was confirmed.

God lord, she wondered a second time as he swept from the room. What had she gotten herself into?


	4. Chapter 4

The rest of the Easter holls, to the great relief of student and professor alike, seemed to pass with minimal drama, aside from one particular incident in which bits of chicken ended up being thrown across the room and an unusually violent row broke out about the Marauders.

Severus's nightmares persisted, to Minerva's chagrin, and she almost developed a certain routine; after she had heard him go to bed, she would change into her dressing gown and night slippers and take a book with her down the hall, where she read on the floor outside of his door for about forty-five minutes to an hour before the screaming began. (He thought he was savvy, using his unusual talents to cast a nonverbal silencing spell, but unfortunately for Severus she outdid him in their little battle of wits with state-of-the-art wards that negated even his magic). After shaking the thrashing child awake, with more roughness than she would care to admit, she summoned a chilled glass of water, which he usually drank without protest. Many glasses of water were choked and finally swallowed those frigid April nights. Then she would stand and watch him until he fell back asleep. It never mattered how long it took. She waited the whole time, and neither of them said a word the next day.

During the day Minerva and Severus learned to do more than just work. She would force him to take breaks from his potions- which was far more difficult than even she expected- and when she would get exasperated at the picture of the grim child looking forlornly out the window at the spring rain she would shove a novel onto the sill that she thought he would enjoy, including several Muggle ones he had never heard of. To get his revenge, he made her learn how to play Gobstones after she lost a bet. Seeing the slime on Professor McGonagall's face was all the satisfaction he needed, even for a vindictive nature like his. On the Saturday before classes resumed, she even managed to get him to Diagon Alley to buy him some properly fitting clothes, including several new sets of school robes, new slacks, and a casual sweatshirt to wear when he spends time in the common room.

"I'll never be able to afford all this!" He had the audacity to grown, boxes piled so high in his long arms that she couldn't see his face.

She had the even greater audacity to laugh devilishly in return while handing the money over the checkout counter.

It was on the Sunday evening before term resumed that things finally came to a head. It had been an emotional roller coaster of a holiday, and neither of them were willing to stand there confronted with the memory of it, each of them so eager to keep it at an arm's length and pretend that it had never happened despite the fact that after this not even the crisp blue air or the ringing of voices in the London street would be the same, because nothing would be.

And then, of course, there was the even greater fact that neither of them now knew how they were going to survive without this. Severus, unused to being cared for or fussed over or having enough to eat, unused to anyone (but especially the adults in his life) giving a damn, and never having received real, true, and honest love that wasn't manipulative was terrified of how he was supposed to manage to go back to the way things were before. The thought of it terrified him, scared him so much that it was all he could do not to be strangled by it and end it all right there just so he wouldn't have to face it.

For her part, Minerva McGonagall knew that her quarters would feel significantly lonelier without Severus- erm, the boy- there to give her his work to give an approving nod over or a disapproving stare when he revealed his true heathenism at the dinner table. There would no one to tell about the little amusing things she noticed throughout the day, no soft breathing from a mentally, emotionally, spiritually and physically exhausted teenager from the next room.

And God knows neither of them wanted to think about what would happen during the summer holiday.

Well, by the time that final Saturday had rolled around, Severus could not bring himself to go to his bedroom even though she had told him at least three times that it was past time. After several rounds of defensive "You're not the boss of me" and "If I am not the boss then why did Slytherin just lose five points?" he finally plopped down in an armchair in the living room under an afghan as if trying to blend into it, using any means possible to try and prevent her from seeing him but black hair surrounding him in a halo of static electricity that rendered his efforts pointless. She smiled when she saw him, shook her head and sat down to do more knitting, deathly afraid of touching him because she knew that in reality sending him away would most certainly destroy every fragile thing she had spent every second of the last week trying to build with this child, this poor broken and abused child who felt so unneeded and unwanted that he had to make himself invisible to get approval.

Somewhere in the world, she knew, was a Severus Snape who was strong and powerful, who wasn't insecure at all but confidant to the point of intimidating, who was brave and heroic and loved to the point of death and was loved in return. A Severus published in journals and with googly-eyed apprentices clinging to his heels and who demanded silence with the raising of an eyebrow. She knew, just knew, that one wrong move on her part could cause that Severus to disappear forever.

She determined she wasn't going to let that happen.

Tonight, no screaming would come from the boney, frightened bundle of blanket.

When the sobs came it was all she could do to rub his back in small and quiet circles, shushing him and trying to get him quiet but never quite succeeding as every few minutes he would give a wracking sob that turned into a hiccup and the tears would come cascading in great mucose-filled sniffles. It was so bad that it almost made her cry too.

Finally, after he had been still for some time, she turned off the lamp by the chair, so the room was illuminated only by her wand light. He had come out from under the blanket, but it was still wrapped around his shoulders as the one final layer of protection he would never be able to afford to get rid of.

"I'm sorry," he began slowly. She shook her head.

"What… what am I supposed to do?"

In that moment, she completely forgot that he was fourteen. He was a child. Her child.

"Nothing, Severus."

And she held him close.

* * *

Severus managed to get through his classes the next day more or less alright. He forgot his Divination book and lost ten points for his House but compared to the taunting and harassment he was used to putting up with from the Fab Four he would take the points any day. For some bizarre reason they seemed to be ignoring him all day. Fine by him, no mistake about it- but at the same time it was so suspicious and uncanny that it left Severus in a constant bundle of nerves.

Lily was tactful enough not to mention his trip to the hospital wing, and he was even able to lose himself and get caught up in the long-winded story of her holiday, though it didn't seem very exciting. She scolded him for insulting Petunia, he laughed at her jokes, and things felt the most normal between them they had felt for a very long time. He went back to his dormitory feeling a strange mixture of satisfaction at this and emptiness at knowing that no one would be coming to check on him tonight.

Minerva had been worried at the prospect of him dealing with the nightmares on his own since he hadn't been for a while, but ultimately decided that there was little she could do that wouldn't embarrass him in front of his housemates, especially not being his head of house.

What she couldn't have known was that, after listening to the other Slytherin boys guffaw on and on about literally nothing and all of the hot girls they'd banged during the holiday (yeah, right), Severus pulled the curtains tight around him, cast his silencing spell and quite literally cried himself to sleep.

A/N: **Okay. Here's the deal: Most stories have this thing called a plot, but unfortunately this does not. Before I sit down, I quite literally have no idea what's going to happen. That's where you come in. Where do you want this to go? What happens next? Let me know. Again, this is yours, not mine. Let me know if I botched this one too badly. XOXO**


	5. Chapter 5

Unfortunately for Severus, the Marauder's decision to pretend that he didn't exist ended the next day after Herbology. And for whatever reason, they decided to begin with his clothes.

"What, someone taught little chimney boy how to dress?" James began, wand out and menacing and he and his troupe circled in on their favorite victim behind the deserted greenhouses. Severus barely had it in him to snarl in return.

"Leave me be, Potter."

He had been enjoying his new apparel and did not need the likes of them to screw it up for him.

But with four wands now pointed at his face, that prospect was looking more and more unlikely, and so he pulled his out too.

"Oh, Snivellus forgot," sneered Potter. He was wearing his Quidditch jersey already despite having hours to go before the match. "Professor McGonagall is the Head of Gryffindor, not the Head of Slytherin. She does not care about slime-filled snakes, and that means she does not care about _you_."

Severus would wonder for many years why he said what he said next, and what, if anything, might be done so that he could go back in time and stop himself from saying it.

"She does too care!"

Undoubtedly it was a very childish, stupid thing to say. Black laughed and shot Potter his "look," the one that meant Severus was about to be crushed like a piece of meat.

"We'll see about that."

And little by little, thread by thread the Marauders tore apart the expensive new garments Severus had gotten from his teacher; tore apart each miniscule fraction of hope that still remained in the pale, bony body that someone, somewhere, had cared for him. It was all gone, all she had told him was long gone, until he stood in nothing but an undershirt, pants and now muddied socks. Even his shoes were ruined, dashed like his Professor's false promises. He could hear them laughing.

"And just what is going on here?"

But there she was… Severus didn't dare to hope it, when she had never come to his aid before. Nevertheless, there she was- the fact was indisputable. Her hair was pulled in the usual tight bun and her arms were crossed. She looked mad. She looked _furious_.

Severus grinned in spite of himself.

"Potter, Black, Lupin, Pettigrew- detention with me each afternoon for the next fortnight _at least_."

Her watchful, flashing eyes glimpsed Potter's Quidditch uniform.

"Ah. I address the Captain of our House's Quidditch team, I see. Until I decide otherwise, Mr. Potter, you are officially banned from the field. I suggest you apologize to the rest of our House; I fear our chances of winning the Quidditch Cup are now quite gone."

Their mouths hung so wide; it was a wonder their chins didn't fall off. How stupid the famous Potter and Black looked! Oh, Severus wished he had a camera.

"Well? Why are you still here?"

The Fab Four most definitely did not linger.

"Here," offered Minerva, helping the disheveled but gloating teenager to his feet. "What on earth…" Her voice trailed off as she held the shreds of his new clothes in her hands and took in the mess all over the grass. There was nothing to say. He hung his head in shame.

"I'm… I'm sorry…" He choked. "I'll pay you back, I swear!"

"Nonsense. Come with me. We'll clean you up."

He was still crying as he sat on the edge of the familiar bathtub as she cleaned the scabs that had appeared on his knees. She was attempting in vein to conceal all of her anger in case the child decided for unfathomable reasons that it was directed at _him_. But this was difficult when the Hogwarts Matron's report on his history kept flashing before her eyes.

"Shh, shh," she soothed, running a wrinkled finger over Severus's tear stained cheeks. "I do not care about the clothes. I will get you more- whatever you like."

This was met with another wracking sob.

"But- but he said…" Severus did not dare to repeat it. She might still tell him it was true.

"Oh, darling," Minerva cooed, pulling him to her chest. "Sweet, sweet darling."

He could not help it. Pressed against her thin bosom, he could not help but cry and cry and wail until he couldn't anymore. After almost ten minutes of this, he spoke at last.

"Aunt Min? Can I- can I stay here tonight with you?"

She did not answer. She just nodded and dressed him for bed.

She'd never done that before, but she did it without thinking, like instinct.

Taking care of her son was becoming instinct.


End file.
